I'll Take the Rain
by Servatia
Summary: Fanfiction for P.A. Browns L.A. series. It's not slash if it's canon, is it? Rated M for a reason. This wanted out of my system.


_((Title's an R.E.M. song. And there's a line from _You_ in there. I do, however, remember now that the text was inspired by the Subway to Sally song _Unsterblich_ (_Immortal_). It's basically about what happens here, although I never give the motive. I'm assuming when all is said and done, Chris simply doesn't want to hear anything about it and never bothers finding out the reasons.))_

* * *

I'll Take the Rain

The client shook Chris's hand enthusiastically. 'And why do I hire someone from so far away?'

'Because I'm the best, that's why,' he answered with a wink.

'Can I tempt you to a glass of wine?'

Chris smiled. 'Sorry, need to get going. There are a couple of things I've got to get done.' Indeed there were. One was answering the nine or so calls from Des. Another was his date with the police officer that had contacted him at his own request. Now that was something Chris decidedly was not looking forward to, but if he wanted to have some semblance of peace, he needed to. And then … But that was later.

Appeasing Des was easy. His other missed calls he ignored. Perhaps he would face them later, but the more time passed, the less Chris thought so. He made his way to the police office, feeling oddly detached. He had considered taking some sort of downer, but in the end, he had refrained. He didn't know anywhere near enough about what drugs could interfere with the other meds he was on. If he was being reasonable and taking them, he wouldn't screw up their efficiency by adding something to the mix without consulting anyone.

At the headquarters of the NYPD, a young woman looked up at him. She blinked and her dulled expression gave way to a smile. 'Christopher Bellamere. I have an appointment.'

'Ah … Yes, sure. Mr Dawkins is waiting for you. Just through there.'

The man in the office looked so much like a cop it was almost painful. 'Look,' Chris said by way of a greeting, 'I know I asked to talk to you, but I've kind of changed my mind.'

Dawkins sighed. 'I … do understand that. But please take a seat, now you're here. We need not make your way here an absolute waste of time.'

'Sure.' He had apparently left his resistance in the hotel.

'I would like to ask a few questions.'

'You don't say.'

His remark was entirely lost on Dawkins. 'Are you homosexual?'

'Yes.' He was so tired. So horribly tired.

'Are you familiar with this man?' A photo was dropped on the desk for Chris to look at. He did, for about a second. 'Darren Fawkes. Yes.' He swallowed. 'Don't make me say it. It's him. The one who did it. Don't make me say it, please.'

'He had many names, that guy. Doesn't use a single one twice. I need you …'

Chris stood abruptly. 'Oh no. You're not dragging me into a court-room with this.'

'Please sit down, Mr Bellamere.' He did after a few seconds. 'I will have you testify, with a subpoena, if I must. You are the victim, but you are not the only one. There have been five before you within the past three months. How many more must there be?'

'You have five witnesses, why do you need me?'

'Because if I only asked the witnesses willing to show up, I would have none. And I am sympathetic, I know a little something about what you're going through. Not from personal experience, but close family.' The man leaned forwards. 'Mr Bellamere, I need you.'

'And I need to get home and look after my business. I need to get this out of my head!'

'It's not as if you're not allowed to leave New York. But you need to come back to a court date. And I'd rather not have to resort to forcing you. I'd prefer you to come voluntarily.'

He shrugged. 'It's hardly voluntary if you threaten me with a subpoena. You see, I've been there. I've been a suspect before.'

'You're not a suspect, you're a victim.' Dawkins shook his head. 'All right. Family?'

'Married.'

'Have you talked to him?'

'Not yet.'

'Do you want a counsellor? I know a good one.' This man was either unusual or a good actor. Chris found it difficult to believe that he was pretending not to judge. He seemed honest enough.

'Thank you. I don't need someone else to talk to my husband.'

Dawkins smiled. 'I would like to have an address to contact you.'

'I … will let you know. And no, this isn't deflection. Here … you can use the e-mail. I travel a lot, I might miss letters. For the next three weeks I'll be in the hotel. You've got that address. And here's my card.'

'In that case, that will be all. I will contact you.'

'Yeah. Right.'

Ϡ

Back in his hotel room, Chris stared at his cell phone. He seriously considered vanishing from the face of the earth, but that wouldn't work. So he did what he felt was his only option and called his lawyer. 'Good morning. I need you to set up divorce papers. Mail them to me and …' Chris swallowed, savouring the moment before he tore what remained of his life into shreds. 'And send them to David.'

Ϡ

Two letters. Both unopened. One in the impersonal envelope of a bunch of lawyers. A bunch of lawyers David knew were Chris's. What might be in there, he didn't dare to think. The other was from the New York Presbyterian hospital and not addressed to him, but to Chris.

Chris, who had gone to Manhattan for a job; who hadn't even called him after his first day there; who had apparently talked to Des, who, in turn, refused to get between the frontlines and wasn't passing anything on to David. His loyalty might be admirable, but right now, it was annoying.

Not really expecting a response, David decided to try calling Chris. Again. When the other man answered, he was so stunned for a moment, he had no idea what to say. 'Hello.' He had planned to let out a tirade, tell him what he thought of his silence for a week. 'I miss you,' was what came out. Sometimes, his head got the better of him.

'Did you get the papers?'

'Papers. What? Oh. From your lawyers? Got them, didn't open them yet.'

'Open them.'

'Hang on.' He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder and hunted down a knife. He looked through the papers and felt all the blood draining him. He sat heavily on a chair. 'Chris … why?'

'I … had an affair, here in New York. And I'm not coming back.'

This couldn't be real … He had waited for this to happen, but after so many years, he had overcome the wild fear that Chris would leave him for someone younger and better. 'Because you're with him now?'

'Because I'm tired of you, David. We had our fun, but it's over. Don't call me again.'

Ϡ

Chris stood motionless for a full minute. Then he slumped gracelessly to the floor and buried his face in his hands. The last week had been one single horror. He had come because this company, ironically a DataTEK daughter, had requested outside help. He had almost refused, wanting nothing to do with anything that came from his old company, but in the end, he had agreed to a five week trip to Manhattan. David had planned to come with him but couldn't stay away so long, so Chris had gone alone. He shouldn't have gone at all. It had been nonsensical from the start. He couldn't support a client so far away, he needed to give him a local contact. He could have done that to begin with. But no, his pride had brought him here.

The man who'd called himself Darren Fawkes had stalked him from the moment he had entered the hotel. He had known who he was, which had surprised Chris but hadn't alarmed him. When the other man's advances were rejected, he seemed all right and had left.

He had struck out of the blue. Had dragged Chris from a diner late one evening into a house and raped him. Brutally. How long he had remained on the floor, shaking and refusing to acknowledge what had happened he had no idea. He had then dragged himself into a cab and gone to hospital.

Once there, something in him had gone numb. He had been calm when the doctors looked how bad the injury was. He was calm when they told him he had to stay for four days. He had been calm when they had told him that he should get on PEP – as if he hadn't known that much himself. But then they had added that there was a man the papers called the Donor. The words seroconversion and high viral load in combination with considerable rectal bleeding had been thrown at him, letting him know exactly what was wrong. Leaving him with a sword of Damocles over his head. It would fall. Chris had known from the start that he didn't have to take the PEP because he was doomed.

He had still listened to the doctors and had taken the medication with all the precision of a Swiss watch. He had also insisted that they test him. He might have been a bit hysterical, and he knew it was completely pointless, but in the end they had given. He was paying, after all. For all he knew they had never tested his blood sample and tossed it. He didn't care either way. He felt like he was getting a cold and fought a rising panic. This wasn't the fuck flu. This was too early for the fuck flu. And he was taking the three antiviral drugs he'd been given meticulously, even though he wasn't sure why. He could as well stop entirely and wait until the bomb stopped ticking and exploded.

And yet. He could never tell David. He could never sleep with him again. With anyone. Either because he was contagious or because his mind had been ruined. How could he ever let anyone touch him again?

A small voice urged him to talk to Des. That his friend had been there and come out alive and sane and able to love. But the clamour of fear was too loud to hear it.

Ϡ

One last time, David decided. One last time he would call Des. If the other man refused to talk to him, he would vanish from this house without a trace.

He was cold all over. Denial was insisting this was all a misunderstanding.

Des answered at the third ring. 'Des … I was just saying good-bye.'

'Ah … what?'

So perhaps he didn't know of Chris's plans. 'I just got divorce papers.' Not caring anymore, he opened the letter from the New York Presbyterian hospital, too. 'And … Oh my God.' At the edge of his perception, David heard Des asking what was wrong, but he couldn't answer. The impersonal paper destroyed whatever illusions he had had. This was the result of an HIV test. It was negative. But the point was that Chris had taken the test. He either thought he could be positive, which must mean that he had cheated a longer time ago, or he had thought David had cheated. 'Chris tested for HIV,' he muttered into the phone, not caring that this was something his yet-husband might not even want to share.

'And?' Des's voice was shocked.

'Negative. But he got tested.'

'David … I think something's wrong.'

'Obviously.'

'No. He didn't say a thing to me! Not about getting tested, not about divorcing you, which I can hardly believe … Are you sure this isn't an error?'

'I talked to him. He wants out.'

'I don't believe it.'

'Des …'

'And if he got tested, why would he have the result sent to your home?'

'To convince me it's for the best to end this.'

'David. Go find him. Talk to him.' Des sounded almost frantic. 'Please. Look … I swear to you, just a couple of days ago he called me and he sounded like he was drunk or something. He kept talking about you, about how he needed you there with him. I got a weird vibe, but he wouldn't say anything. Then I had to swear not to tell you and he didn't answered his phone for days. Something's going wrong up there.'

'You're making it very difficult to move on.'

'You're not supposed to move on. You're supposed to go after your husband.'

Ϡ

Chris entered the hotel lobby with every intention of getting drunk. Unseeing, he turned left to the bar and planted himself on a stool. 'Cîroc,' he said simply and buried his head in his hands.

'Chris.'

He nearly fell off the stool. Actually, he would have if David hadn't caught him. 'Jesus, what the fuck!' Even to himself he didn't sound angry but scared.

'God, Chris. You're sheet white. What's wrong?' Those beautiful eyes were so sad, so warm … It would be easy to … No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Steeling himself, Chris brushed David off.

'I told you not to call again.'

'Yeah. So I came over instead of calling. I want you to look me in the eyes and say that it's over.' Oh, it was so cliché.

Chris looked at him squarely and didn't get the words out. Cliché indeed. 'Oh, fuck you.'

The pain the two words, little more than a whisper, caused was palpable. 'You look horrible. Are you ill, Chris?'

'I'm on PEP.'

Chris had expected shock, but there was none. David merely nodded. 'Ah. I see. If you're on PEP, why would you get tested? Don't they usually do that after?'

'Yeah, but I panicked. So you got the results. They're negative. They can't be anything else at this point.'

'Yes.' David took the seat next to him. He snatched the Vodka from Chris and drained it. 'I don't think you're supposed to drink with your meds anyway.'

'No. Might kick me like a truck with the PI I'm being fed.'

What with David's blank expression he probably didn't know what a PI was. Lucky him. 'Chris … I've signed the papers. I have them here. If this is really what you want, I'll get out of your life without a fight.'

David had never sounded so defeated. Why couldn't he just send the papers back, why did the man have to come? 'Good.'

'But I want to … can we at least talk about this?'

'No.'

'Chris, I'm begging you.' He had no strength to object. He was sick from the meds, sicker still from hurting David. 'Look. I love you. And … I'll tell you what I think. I think you slept with someone and didn't want to endanger me. So you got tested and got on PEP. And you know the danger isn't over. Not for six months. You were never going to tell me you're in danger or worse, sick. You were just going to vanish.' Chris hated how well David knew him. Lying to his face was out of the question, so he remained silent. 'And … I want to tell you that … I'd like to know why you betrayed me. But no matter what your reason was … because you were drunk or bored or aren't getting something from me … I'd like to work this out. With you.'

Chris stared at David open-mouthed. 'You've come all this way to tell me you forgive me for risking … infecting you?'

'You risked infecting yourself. You're going out of your way to make sure you won't infect me. But yes. I came here to say that I will forgive you. If you still love me.'

Chris swallowed. He placed the payment for his drink on the counter and slipped off the stool. 'Not here.' He stalked off, still hoping David wouldn't follow, but of course, he did.

Once in the privacy of his room, Chris started pacing. 'David … How can you?'

The other man was leaning against the wall with a dogged expression. 'How did you forgive me, way back when?'

'What if I get AIDS?'

'I thought we're talking HIV.'

'Just answer the fucking question!'

David abandoned his post at the wall and caught Chris by his arms. 'Chris. What the hell happened? This isn't you.'

'Maybe you don't know me that well after all. Maybe this is who I really am.'

'Who do you think you're kidding? I can see that you're falling apart at the seams. And you don't let me help you. And that hurts like hell.'

Chris felt his lower lip quiver, and suddenly his arms were around David and his head buried in the massive chest and he was sobbing uncontrollably. Strong arms held him close, and he didn't feel trapped or frightened. Just safe. The familiar scent of David filled his nostrils, and for the first time in too long, Chris felt some semblance of peace. Slowly, he calmed down and disentangled himself from his husband. 'Give me the papers,' he said hoarsely.

David's lips tightened. He thought he would object, but then he opened his briefcase and passed the papers to Chris. The signature was there. 'What do you think would happen if I tested positive, after the PEP or six months later. What would happen between the two things?'

'I'd suggest using condoms and me getting on PrEP before your last test. And after, if it comes to that.'

Chris tipped his forehead. 'No way. There's still a risk.'

'In sickness and in health, remember? Don't leave me because you want to protect me, Chris. Leave me because you don't want to be with me. But this … this is just wrong.'

Chris glanced at his papers and then locked eyes with David. Taking a deep breath, he ripped them apart. David's eyes closed with relief. 'Honey …' The tall man rushed him and held him tightly. 'Thank you … thank you. Just … tell me why you did this thing to me. I want to know why. If you want to tell me at all.'

'I … never betrayed you.' He pulled away from David and received a quizzical look. There was no disbelief, no doubt. The words were taken at face value. Despite the test, despite what Chris had said earlier. 'You … believe that?'

David shrugged. 'You've got no reason to lie. I'm just not getting why you'd say so and what's wrong.'

Chris walked over to his bed and retrieved a newspaper from under it. 'I don't think it made national news, so you wouldn't know.' He went through the pages until he found the article about the so-called Donor and passed the paper to David. The question in his eyes gave way to horror, then to rage. 'He got you.' No answer was needed, but still Chris nodded. 'I'll kill that man.'

'No, David, you won't. I'll finish my job here. That'll coincide with the end of the PEP. We'll go home. I'll come back for a testimony eventually. And when he's locked away, we'll continue our life. And maybe, maybe the meds will even stop me from getting sick.'

'You make sure you take them.'

'I am, love.' He swallowed. 'This isn't all. I'm injured and I don't know when I can … ah.'

'There'll be time for that, Chris. I didn't come here to fuck you. I came here hoping to save my marriage.' He lowered his voice. 'Talk to Des, Chris. Or a counsellor. Or both.'

'I'll talk to Des. I don't think I need counselling.'

'You wanted to divorce me.'

'I panicked.' He pulled away from David. 'I love you. You know that.' David just smiled at him, and somehow Chris smiled back. It felt odd to do such a thing. 'Can you stay here with me?'

'I've got to get back tomorrow. But we'll talk. Every day. And next time I'll come with you. I'll never let you out of my sight again.'

Ϡ

'Open it.' Chris's hand was shaking like a leaf in a storm. The envelope fell from his fingers. 'S-sorry.'

'It's all right.' David snatched the innocuous looking thing from the ground. Licking his lips, he ripped it open. He hid his nerves. Chris needed him strong, but God, was he scared. This was it. The last test, six months later. They had established that they would use protection and David take PrEP. Otherwise, Chris wouldn't touch him, not even after the test three months after had been negative.

It had taken a while before the poor man could maintain an erection. Another month before he initiated sex rather than reciprocating, save for that first time where had started to let David know he was ready. Ready-ish. Another two months before Chris had finally taken him, and what a night that had been. Since then, things had been almost normal. Except David didn't even dare suggest that he be on top. Chris would let him know when he was ready for that. He shook the thought off and swallowed, pulling the verdict from the envelope. He looked at the results and instantly had tears in his eyes.

Chris's face went from frightened to absolute despair. 'No,' David said quickly, 'no, baby, don't, you're all right … everything's all right. Look. Look, love.' Incredulous, the younger man glanced at where he was pointing. Or trying to point. He was shaking almost as badly as his husband.

'Nothing … I'm … not …'

David shook his head. 'You're fine.' He let the results fall and grabbed the other man's hands, peppering kisses on them. 'You're fine.'

'Perhaps I should take another test, to make sure …'

David silenced him with a kiss, his tongue slipping into Chris's mouth and turning whatever he was going to say into a moan. 'Nonsense,' he said then. 'No getting paranoid's what Des said.'

Chris nodded and grinned at him. 'Fuck me, David.'

The words went right to David's groin. 'You sure?'

'Yeah. Just … if I freak out …'

'What d'you think?' He cupped Chris's face and kissed him again. Slowly, this time, hands wandering to the other man's shirt. They undressed each other with reverence.

'Perhaps I should go upstairs and get …'

'Perhaps you shouldn't even think about it. It's over. Baby, don't.' He pressed close, letting his husband feel his arousal. 'It's over. Let go. It's all over.'

Ϡ

Chris nipped at David's lip and decided to at least try not to lose it. He was nervous. Not frightened. Not of this wonderful man. 'C'mon.' Chris moved them away from the window. 'Not making this a show for the neighbours.'

'Good idea. Wouldn't do to scare them.'

'Scare them? Make them envious more like.' He eyed his partner's huge erection and licked his lips before he knelt and sucked him into his mouth. David's hands went to his head, caressing his scalp.

'Yeah … oh, so good.' Chris closed his eyes, enjoying how David felt and tasted. His hands went one to his testicles, the other plucked one of David's hands and held it. He bobbed his head up and down, taking him in deep. 'Ah … Slow down, man … you want to finish me?'

Chris pulled away and grinned. Spittle dribbled down his chin. David's eyes were wide and blazing with lust. He pulled him to his feet and into his arms, manoeuvring them both to the sofa and sitting Chris down on it. Chris planted his feet on the edge and shifted his ass forwards. David moistened a finger and probed him. To his own surprise, Chris relaxed at once. 'You all right?' David asked quietly.

'Perfect, honey. Keep going.' He kept his eyes locked on David's face, never closing them long enough to see anything else his mind might conjure up. The finger inside him was joined by a second, and he accommodated that as well. 'I'm ready, darling. If you don't do anything soon, I'll have a heart attack. Just so you know.'

'Can't risk that.' The fingers left him and were replaced by that gorgeous cock. Slowly, gently the head slipped inside him. And for one horrible moment, he wasn't with David. He felt the pressure recede at once. Instead, David kissed him. 'It's all right. Not tonight.'

'Yes. Tonight.' Chris nearly didn't recognise his own voice. 'I need to … to get this behind me. Not … us this, but that this. New York. I need to leave it there. And I need you for that.' His erection was not entirely gone but had flagged. 'Talk to me, David. But don't stop.'

'I'm not sure if that's wise.'

Chris's eyes widened. 'You don't want me … No, of course you wouldn't.'

'Hey.' David was holding him in place without any effort despite Chris's feeble attempt to duck away. 'Hey. You, dear man, are the love of my life. And I want you like the movies.'

Despite himself, Chris smiled at the odd metaphor. 'Then show me.'

'Keep looking at me.' David pushed against him again, sliding in perhaps an inch. 'I love you. I've loved you for years, and I will always do so.' Another inch. 'I will never hurt you, and if anyone ever hurts you again I think I'll run amok.' Warm lips pressed against Chris's when David slipped deeper until he was buried to the hilt inside Chris. 'All I want is that you're happy.

'I am,' Chris whispered. 'More than I can tell you.' He started moving under David, showing him that he was ready for more. His cock was quickly hardening again, the spectre gone. David took the hint and started sliding in and out of him. Their eyes remained locked even when the pace became close to frantic. Only when David's hand closed around his dick leaking precum onto his stomach, he couldn't keep them open. He clutched at his husband, muttering something incoherent while David milked his climax from him moments before he thrust in deep, spilling himself inside Chris's gut.

For all he knew, Chris might have passed out. He was panting hard. 'Oh, God, so good,' he said. David pulled him further to the front of the sofa before pulling out to make sure he didn't spill his seed on the piece of furniture. Chris started laughing and couldn't stop. David's slightly concerned expression didn't make it any easier. Chris slid to the floor, still grinning like a fool. He landed in the pool of cum that had leaked out of him and doubled over with uncontrollable glee again.

'All right,' David said, torn between amusement and worry. 'I have no idea what brought this on, but it's good to see you laugh again.'

Chris managed to gain control of himself and reached out to pull David close. 'I've ruined you. You never cared about sofas before.'

'And that's funny?'

'Kind of.' Chris looked at him sideways. 'Never leave me, David.'

'Could sooner leave my own hand behind.'

Chris's eyes found the paper half a metre away from him. He snatched it from the ground and stared at the print unseeingly for a moment before letting go of it again. 'So damn close.'

'Yeah. You know, this settles it. I'm going to quit.'

'David …'

'No. Listen. I'm going to quit. I'll start my own private business. And I'll hire you for everything cyber.'

'Can you afford me?'

'I'll have to pay in kind.'

Chris grinned and looked pointedly at David's glistening sex. 'Sounds good to me.' He sobered. 'I just don't want you to … I don't know … resent me. For coaxing you out of service.'

'Chris, the day I resent you is the day I willingly walk into a psychiatric ward. No. I've been thinking about this ever since that trip to Bermuda. That was too close, just before we went. And this now, New York … no. That guy knew exactly who you were. You've been on the news too many times and we've both got some really bad luck. You leave for longer than a night, I come with you. I can't do that if I remain on the service.'

Chris rested his head against David's shoulder. 'My big protector.'

'Always yours.'

'David.'

'Hmm?'

'This means the world to me. You mean the world to me.' He shivered slightly.

David snorted. 'Your protector's going to tuck you in before you get a cold. Come on. To bed with you.' David headed to the stairs leading up, but Chris first picked up the results. Still half disbelieving them, he looked again, but they remained the same. He was negative. Granted, the chance to be infected after a single exposure was not extremely high, and he had raced to a hospital to get medicated almost immediately. But still. The man was already in prison after he had admitted all six rape charges immediately, and now the dark cloud lingering over Chris had left. He could move on.

* * *

_((This isn't my most refined piece of fanfiction. But since I'm not expecting anyone to read it, I'm not too bothered. Mind that 'not my most refined' means I limited my research regarding PEP - post-exposure prophylaxis - to a minimum. As in use books I already have rather than try and interview someone from a pharmaceutical company or an immunologist. I intended to do both, originally. So my book is _The Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy_, 18__th__ edition, which makes it a source from 2006. That's a lifetime ago and the reason why I do not go into detail about the treatment involved in the story. Also this isn't the kind of thing I'd like to research further on an office computer, and at home I don't have the leisure._

_And please leave a review. There's not too many people out there that know these books, so those precious few are welcome to leave a few words.))_


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